Rage Of The Assassin (8 page)

Briones shook his head. “This is a dead end, sir. We know how he escaped – through the tunnel.”

“That’s certainly how it appears. But I’ve learned that with Aranas you can’t take anything at face value. Let’s just say I’m suspicious of everything and everyone on this one.”

“You think he just walked out of the highest security prison in the country?”

“I haven’t formed an opinion. I’m just following any loose threads. This is one of them.”

“What’s the difference, even if it is him? He’s still gone.”

“The difference is that if he had help on the inside and strolled out disguised as a laborer, then higher powers within the prison are involved, and we need to know so we don’t waste time chasing down blind alleys.”

“If that were true, why let us see this?”

“Because nobody else would even question it. As you said, he’s gone, there’s a tunnel, we’re done, on to the next thing.”

Realization dawned on Briones’s face. “Ah. So the whole thing could be an act to protect his accomplices? Pretty elaborate, isn’t it?”

“Not if your ass is on the line if it isn’t convincing. And if you want to retire and spend the millions you earned getting Aranas out relaxing on a beach somewhere instead of rotting in the same prison you helped operate.” Cruz’s voice became almost inaudible. “Besides, I haven’t seen this infamous tunnel with my own eyes. As far as I know, there might not even be one. I’ve requested time at the prison but have yet to hear back. I want to walk the tunnel – then I’ll buy the story. Until then, like I said, everything’s suspect. Everything.”

“I understand.”

The tech approached. “I have one camera that’s only catching a little of that exit. Want to see it?”

“Yes.”

The footage was of a security gate, but they could clearly make out the laborer walk toward a waiting vehicle and climb in. Cruz and Briones exchanged a dark look. Cruz turned to where the tech was sitting.

“Again.”

When they’d finished watching it a second time, Cruz thanked the technician and led Briones from the room. As they stood in the elevator, Cruz’s face was all angles.

“Don’t see a lot of workers getting into Land Rovers, do you?” he asked the younger man.

“Too bad it was black and white. Hard to tell what color it was.”

“And no license plate, only the top half of the car. Bad luck.”

“I’m starting to believe luck didn’t play a large part in this.”

“Now you sound like me.” The doors slid open and they stepped onto the task force floor. “I want you to pull any traffic cameras in the area and see whether we can pick up the Land Rover. Either get a plate or images of the occupants. There should be sufficient cams so one of them caught it.”

“I’ll get on it. As you know, it will probably take too long, but I’ll tell everyone to rush it,” Briones said.

“Good man,” Cruz said. “When you’re done, come to my office. I want to go over the prostitution raid. I’m still not convinced we aren’t missing something.”

Briones appeared surprised. “You handed all that off to me already. I’ve got it under control.”

“I know. But I’m going to put in some extra hours, just in case I missed something critical before I gave it to you.”

Briones nodded. “Another long one?”

“In an endless string. Needless to say, Dinah isn’t delighted.”

“I can only imagine.”

Cruz left the lieutenant near his cubicle and continued on to his office. When he arrived, he found a message from Godoy requesting a status report. Cruz shook his head at the man’s colossal ego and lack of appreciation for how police work actually took place. All they’d done was have a meeting. There was nothing to report, other than his suspicions about the footage, which at this point were indicative of exactly nothing.

Cruz sat at his desk and dialed Godoy’s extension. His secretary answered and asked him to hold, and then he was forced to wait for a good five minutes before the great man came on the line.

“Yes, Cruz. Any progress?” he demanded.

“It’s only been a few hours.”

“I know what time it is. But we need to work fast. The man’s on the run.”

“Of course. I’m still going through the history for an idea of what happened. I have yet to be approved for visiting the tunnel, though. Can you help with that?”

“It’s a tunnel. What’s to see?” Godoy snapped.

Cruz bit back the response that threatened to burst from his lips. “There’s a method to my madness, Godoy. I need to see it. Kindly put some pressure on whoever you need to so I can do so as soon as possible tomorrow.”

“I’ll add it to my list.”

“I can also use some more bodies. I’ve had my lieutenant, Briones, helping, but he’s handling my active cases, so I’m short-handed.”

“Fine. I’ll get to it as soon as I can. Is there anything else?”

“Just that for now.”

“All right, then. I’ll be out the rest of the afternoon, but I want to have a regular status meeting first thing every morning so we can all stay current. Nine o’clock in my office.”

Cruz was going to point out that he typically got to work several hours earlier, but found himself listening to a dial tone. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to not slam the handset down in the cradle, and he viewed it as a minor victory when he retained his composure and set it down softly.

He would not let Godoy get to him. It would be that pompous ass’s funeral, not Cruz’s, when the investigation revealed nothing. That was the payoff, and Cruz could wait for it.

Which didn’t stop him from wishing Godoy a slow and painful death.

Cruz was comfortable with the fact that he wasn’t a particularly good man some days.

This was definitely one of those days.

Chapter 13

El Maquino jumped at the sound of the buzzer, which startled him even though he was expecting it. He stood, moved to the front door, and went through his on-off light ritual before unlocking and relocking the deadbolts and making his way down the stairs. When he arrived at the entrance, he activated the monitor and nodded to himself at the sight of his benefactor.

Two locks that would have been at home in a bank vault clanked open, and El Maquino pulled the heavy slab toward him. His visitor stepped inside and waited as he relocked them behind him, and then led him up the stairs.

“How have you been?” Aranas asked.

“Good,” El Maquino said, the single word all the information he considered necessary.

“How is the project coming?”

“Almost ready.”

They arrived at the condo door and Aranas waited patiently while his host unlocked the deadbolts. Once they were safely ensconced inside, he walked slowly around the living room, which had been converted into a large work area. El Maquino latched and twisted the locks to ensure they wouldn’t be interrupted as Aranas took in his surroundings. To say it was Spartan would have been kind; the only furniture was that which was absolutely essential – a small dining room table with two chairs, a sofa that had seen better days, a single chair by the window, whose blackout curtains were pulled tightly closed, and a long workbench framed by bright red automotive toolboxes the height of a man. Aranas didn’t comment on any of it. He was used to the man’s peculiarities, and if this was how he chose to live his life, so be it.

Aranas turned to El Maquino, who was standing by the door as if uncertain what to do next. “Come, show me what you’re working on.”

El Maquino nodded and moved to the first of three metal boxes near the bench. “These are the devices. Or the casings.” He continued with a long explanation of the system he’d devised, and as Aranas listened, he recognized that what the man was describing would have been impossible for most to understand, just as it was to Aranas. But he didn’t need to grasp every nuance – he just needed them to work, and to be foolproof.

Aranas snuck a look at El Maquino’s face as he went on with his monologue, his voice that odd, inflectionless tone he’d had since a child. The young boy had become a man, but clearly his inner dialogue and self-awareness was stuck somewhere in a past Aranas would never fully appreciate – a world only El Maquino could navigate.

When he was done, Aranas began asking pointed questions about operating the devices, which were amazingly simple, it turned out. Half an hour later he was satisfied that his charge would not only deliver what he needed on time, but that there was no way he could see for anyone to undo his work – which was critical to Aranas’s plan.

“You have made me proud, my boy,” Aranas said, and for an instant thought he saw a flicker of something in the man’s eyes. He knew he might have been projecting the glimmer of emotion he so wanted to see, but he didn’t care. At his age, he’d take it, even if it was crafted from futile hope.

El Maquino walked him through the minutiae of arming and disarming the systems, and then seemed to run out of words, like a clock winding down. He stood staring at the boxes like a statue until Aranas nodded in approval. “This is wonderful work. I knew I was right to put my faith in you. But now, I must go. Do you need anything? Want for anything? Say the word and I’ll make it appear for you. You have but to ask.”

The big man slowly shook his head at the idea. He had everything.

Aranas was surprised when El Maquino seemed to brighten.

“Want to see my birds?” he asked, his voice suddenly shy as he looked at a doorway on the far side of the room.

“I’d love to,” Aranas responded with a surreptitious glance at his watch.

El Maquino led him to the doorway and flipped on the lights. The room was filled with drones of all sizes plugged into wall chargers, some of the aircraft only a few feet wide, others the size of a small bed. El Maquino moved into the space and pointed to the smaller ones. “These are armed with enough C-4 to knock out a tank.” He gestured to several with elaborate apparatuses affixed to them. “Those have stabilized gun platforms I plan to mount small submachine guns on, because of the weight. That one and that one have cameras – video, infrared, thermal. And this last one will support a man – it’s a hovercraft.”

“Really? They’ll carry that much weight?”

“Oh, yes. They’re amazing. The only problem is battery life. But I could see where we could use them either offensively or defensively, like the American army. Or to carry merchandise, or cash, over borders.”

Aranas nodded thoughtfully, trying to be polite. He was glad the odd boy had grown up and found something with which to occupy his time, but the drug lord had little interest in flying toys, even if they were lethal. The amount of product he transported across the border each week was measured in tons, not kilos, so they’d be of no use to him. None of which he told El Maquino, for fear of bruising his feelings.

They discussed the possibilities of remote flight for another couple of minutes and then Aranas excused himself – he had other matters that required his time.

The locking and unlocking and escorting Aranas back to the lobby door took five minutes, and then, after allowing a small hug he clearly felt uncomfortable receiving, El Maquino sealed himself back into his dwelling, exhausted from the energy the visit had required from him. He never had guests of any kind, and even if it was Aranas, the atmosphere of his loft felt like it was charged, disrupted at some fundamental level that might take a long time to dissipate. He shambled over to the light switch in the kitchen and tried to resist the impulse that came over him, an almost physical need to restore order and balance to his space. He considered going to brush his teeth, but even as he had the thought, his beefy fingers reached for the switch.

“On. Off. On. Off.”

Chapter 14

After navigating the busy streets of downtown Mexico City, El Rey jettisoned the thermos in a dumpster and ducked into a gym where he’d purchased a one-week trial membership that morning. After drawing some of the purported antidote for testing, he secreted the vial in one of the lockers, withdrew a light gray windbreaker and blue baseball hat and exchanged them for the black hat and jacket he had on, closed the padlock, and pocketed the sample. That the thermos had a tracking device was a given – he would have done the same, and he didn’t even question that it was chipped.

Fifteen minutes later El Rey circled the block where the laboratory was located, and once satisfied that he wasn’t being tailed, swiftly moved to the front door and pulled it wide. Inside was as he remembered, as though it had been only yesterday that he’d made his last visit and not six months earlier.

The front desk clerk was the same woman as on his prior trip, and he had a sense of déjà vu. He shrugged it off and continued to the counter, where he placed a small plastic vial of antidote and asked the clerk to run a spectrum analysis on it.

In his back pocket he had the results from the prior test, so he could quickly compare the two once the lab had performed its magic. His internal alarms had been clamoring ever since meeting with Rodriguez, and he’d taken special precautions this time around – the final shot that was supposed to fix everything was also the perfect opportunity for the ultimate betrayal.

He, more than most, knew the temptation there would be to renege on the deal. He was a student of human nature, and it would have actually surprised him if CISEN had behaved honorably.

The assassin took a seat in the waiting area while the woman carried his sample into the rear of the laboratory, where some faceless technician would analyze it and print out the chemical breakdown.

The woman returned and smiled. “Can I offer you anything while you wait? Water? A soda?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

The last visit she hadn’t offered anything. It was just a small detail. Probably inconsequential, he told himself, wanting badly to believe it even though his operational instincts argued that nothing was ever meaningless – everything contained information to a man whose job it was to correctly read the signs.

That was paranoid talk, he thought, one of the side effects of not receiving the shot in time. Like the tremors, it didn’t mean anything beyond what it signaled – that he was overdue and in trouble.